villainous
by ink teardrops
Summary: All he is, is a broke artist with unusual powers that sometimes plays the hero, who meets a fiery boy in an alleyway and slowly falls in love —-Dean and Seamus become corrupted by power and all its burning splendour —superhero!AU, for Laura


**Title: **villainous

**Summary: **All he is, is a broke artist with unusual powers that sometimes plays the hero, who meets a fiery boy in an alleyway and slowly falls in love —-Dean and Seamus become corrupted by power, and all its splendour —superhero!AU, for Laura.

**Recipient: **Laura (Someone Aka Me)

**Competition/Challenge: **Big Sis, Lil' Sis, using the prompts angst, ice cold and blood. GGE, March, using

**Notes: **Supervillain/hero AU, in which Dean can read minds and Seamus has a fire affinity. Now edited, but everyone is still slightly OOC, but this is an AU, after all. This is also for the wondrous Laura (Someone Aka Me) who requested Deamus for GGE. Sorry it's so late, love! (Side note: Italics represent thoughts of others.)

* * *

The first time that Dean realised just how good power felt, he was stood on the precipice of a building, a murderer standing just centimetres away from him.

He was clutching the criminal's shirt between paint-stained fingers, dangling him over an alley and he knew that if he let go, this man would crumble to the ground. His life was literally in Dean's hands, and Dean wasn't terrified by this prospect. In fact, quite the opposite, Dean was excited by it.

Usually, in moments like this, the man's thoughts would be something along the lines of oh fuck, dear God, help me, please, please, fuck.

But this time, it was different.

_If this man takes one step closer to me or slackens his grip a tiny bit, I will die and my life will be altered, and everyone who cares about me will be forced to change and evolve._

This man was aware of the consequences, and he was aware of the damage Dean could do. He was aware of the fact that Dean had some sort of power over the course of his life and the people closest to him.

And, as Dean stared into the remorseless, oddly wise eyes of the "bad guy" in this situation, he swore that he could feel his fingers subconsciously loosen and he swore that something inside him was egging him on, encouraging him to let go and watch this man fall back to the cold, stone ground. He swore that there was a very small part of him that was rejoicing at the prospect of Dean loosening his grip.

There was a moment of scarlet confusion in which, as much as Dean hated to admit it, he nearly let go.

At the last minute, he came to his senses and pulled the criminal back from the edge, and the only thought that echoed round and round the man's mind was _I knew he didn't have him in it_, and Dean went back to his little flat that night thinking of the irrational part of him that nearly let go and thinking about how dangerously tempting it felt to hold that kind of power.

That day went down in history as the day that Dean Thomas nearly killed someone.

(It was also the day that marked the beginning of the end.)

* * *

_Damn it, I knew I should've brought more than one knife with me._

The loud, insignificant thoughts of the groaning burglar lying on the floor acted as an irritating, unnecessary background noise – sort of like the distant hum of lawn mowers on a warm summer's day that could be heard from every corner of England. Dean sighed and tuned them out – he wasn't interested in where he was going to rob or any other insignificant details, but rather in stopping him.

When his powers had first begun to develop, at a very young age, the thoughts of everyone around him were a constant, noisy crescendo of emotions and pointless chitter-chatter, and it was impossible to concentrate on anything but what that kid had done to his sister, what this old dear was buying from Tesco's and what that man had done to anger his wife. But, as he had grown older and had become (marginally) more experienced, he had learnt to control his powers and keep it to a minimum. A lot of the time, he barely even noticed what others were thinking.

Dean groaned in frustration and leant against the brick wall of the alley, wondering if he would ever have a peaceful day of painting in his studio, or whether he'd spend the rest of his life being called out to take care of meaningless criminals. Probably the latter, he thought sourly, although, it was his own fault, really. When he'd joined the Underground Superhero Movement, he had known that this was what he was signing up for.

The Underground Superhero Movement, more commonly known as simply the USM, was a fairly small organisation, based in London, and it consisted of nine seemingly ordinary people, who had all been gifted with special powers and chose to use them fighting crime and the occasional super-villain. As the USM's newest recruit, it was usually Dean who was left with the mundane missions involving petty human crimes. Draco, Blaise and Daphne, more experienced membered, usually got mass murders or house , Ron and Hermione, their leaders, got to deal with other groups - often "the bad guys". How fun, Dean thought to himself. Was this what awaited him? A whole life of running around, cleaning up ordinary people's pathetic messes whilst the others got to fight bad guys with incredible powers? Probably.

Dean sighed again and pushed himself off the wall. He reached for the knife in his holster, and stroked the smooth blade. For a moment, he imagined plunging the dagger through the heart of the burglar, and experiencing the adrenaline rush that came with the power he felt when he knew he was changing the course of someone's life. But, no, he couldn't. He was meant to be one of the good guys after all.

"Don't even think about moving," Dean warned, brandishing the blade at the man on the floor.

_Oh great, he's armed_, the man thought.

Dean fished his mobile phone out of his pocket and dialled Hermione's number, tapping his foot impatiently as it rang.

"Hello?" Hermione picked up the phone.

"It's me. Just ringing to tell you that I've got him," Dean replied.

"Good, thank you Dean," Hermione responded, with genuine warmth, "remember to follow procedure, now."

"Will do, Hermione, I'll see you soon. Bye," Dean said, hanging up and putting the phone back in his pocket.

_Who even is this guy? Is he a private investigator or something? A special police officer, maybe?_

Dean listened with vague amusement to the man's thoughts, and shook his head in disbelief at this man's stupidity. The urge to strike him with the dagger hit Dean again, but he once more managed to push the thought out of his mind. Instead, he reached for his gun, and fired a shot into the air, to alert the police, just like Hermione had asked.

_Oh look, another one. Great._

The man's thoughts alerted Dean to a disturbance at the edge of the alley, and he snapped his gaze upwards. Another man was running towards them along the alley.

_This was my target! Jaysus! I was going to get him._

The new man's thoughts all uttered the same tone of disappointment and anger, directed at the fact that Dean had somehow got to this man before he did. Dean almost snorted aloud. As if this man could have had any chance of apprehending this criminal – you couldn't just be some ordinary bloke off the street who decided to play the hero on an afternoon off. You had to be one of so-called special, one of the talented, one of the gifted.

"Who are you?" the new man asked, and Dean was taken aback by the lilting Irish accent that came out of his mouth. It wasn't the voice Dean would've expected him to have.

"I've already alerted the police," Dean replied coolly, choosing to ignore the man's question.

The man's hand hovered over the blade held in his belt, and for a mere second, his thoughts mirrored Dean's thoughts from a moment ago – a powerful want to end this man's life, which was soon overrun by the thought of being the good guy. Dean inwardly gasped – he wasn't the first man to be corrupted by power, then.

"Ah, alright then," the man replied, shaking his head and reaching into his pocket, pulling out a cigarette but, oddly, no lighter.

"Want one?" he offered, and Dean politely declined.

The man placed the cigarette between his lips, and then, flicked his fingers, and suddenly the cigarette was alight. Dean cocked his eyebrow in surprise. This man must be another superhero that they didn't know about; he certainly wasn't part of the USM.

"You don't seem very surprised," the man said, looking at Dean with obvious interest.

"Fire affinity, right? I know a girl who has an affinity for earth, so I've seen this kind of thing before, actually," Dean said, thinking of Luna and the way she could move boulders and earth with the flick of her fingers and make the bows of willow trees curl around her shoulders. To have that kind of power over something, anything, even if it was just the mud he walked on. Dean shook this thought out of his head, alarmed.

The boy nodded, with obvious interest. "So if you have a friend with an earth affinity, does that mean you have a power as well?"

"That's for me to know, and you to find out," Dean replied, wanting to make sure this boy was reliable and trustworthy, before revealing anything.

"I'm Seamus, by the way," the boy said, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air.

"Dean," Dean replied, tuning into Seamus' thoughts, looking for any kind of sign that he was a villain or sent to discover their secrets, coming up with nothing.

The sound of approaching sirens suddenly started, and Dean knew the police would be there soon.

"Now, you," he said to the robber on the ground, "if you say anything about what you've just witnessed, people will think you're crazy. So I advise you, simply, don't. Have fun in prison."

"Come on," he said to Seamus, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him out of the alley.

* * *

"So, you can read minds, you work for a secret organisation that takes down criminals, you're an artist and you want me to help you. Is that all?" Seamus said, smiling, tapping his fingers on the wooden desk.

"That's it," Dean replied ruefully, smiling back, "so, what do you say? I could use some company?"

Seamus flicked his fingers, and Dean saw thousands of tiny permutations across his skin – imperfections, the clear signs of being burned and burned over and over again, and he realised that Seamus' power must have been a lot more _painful, _ a lot harder to deal with, especially alone.

"I'm in," Seamus smiled, sipping his coffee coolly and grinning widely. It was the kind of smile that had the ability to brighten the area around him - hopelessly contagious and burning with fiery ambition. The kind of fire that only a boy who could manifest amber flames could produce.

Dean couldn't help but beam back.

* * *

Upon looking back, Dean didn't know how it happened. He honestly didn't, and still doesn't.

One minute they were the _good guys_, they were catching thieves and murderers, attackers and muggers, and they were calling the police to the scene to deal with it. They were doing the right thing, the _heroic_ thing, the _good_ thing.

The next moment, Dean was holding a criminal by the scruff of his neck and his fingers fumbled, and before he knew it, he'd dropped him off the side of the building.

The next thing he knew, Dean was a _murderer._

The man's life was in his hands. The blood was pounding through his head. The watch on his wrist was counting down, _tick tock, tick tock._ His fingers were slipping, slipping, slipping. He had to choose. Fight or flight? Drop him or carry on pretending to be someone he wasn't? Pretending to be someone _good_.

And, he let go.

As soon as the man's body hit the concrete below, Seamus was by his side.

He sent a coy smile in Dean's direction, and his thoughts echoed Dean's, and Dean knew what was coming.

One minute they were heroes, counting down the criminals on the street, doing good deeds and saving the public, and the next, Seamus' favourite shirt was stained with blood and Dean's paintings all seemed to depict the same scene: the _fall_.

(The fall of the man and the fall of them, from grace.)

He supposed that they were probably _villains _now, Seamus and he, and eventually, Ron, Harry and Hermione. Because if Dean was always one thing, it was charismatic, and so convincing their leaders that dropping the man was the best thing was easier than it should have been. Plus, perhaps, it seemed that all Harry, Ron and Hermione secretly lusted after was a slice of _power_ for themselves. Being the leader of an underground movement wasn't enough for them, clearly.

Perhaps they were even _supervillains_.

He'd never thought of himself as being _super _ before this. Special, maybe. Unique, perhaps. Freak, even. But never _super_.

But, as Seamus and he slowly turned away from the good, and soon, Harry, with his ability to make objects _soar_; Hermione, and her invisible form; Ron and his powers of flight, followed, Dean began to think that maybe they _were_ super, and perhaps this is what they were destined to do. Rule.

Maybe, they had these powers for a reason and these powers weren't for catching people who'd robbed Poundland, or those who fancied a day playing villain. No, perhaps those powers were for a greater cause.

And, perhaps, all that was needed were a certain group of _super _people to use them.

* * *

The next unexpected event occured in quick succession to their fall.

At first, it was nothing more than an exchange of loaded smiles and glances that lasted for far too long. The next minute, Dean painted Seamus constantly. Seamus, drinking coffee; Seamus, on the sofa; Seamus, running along buildings; Seamus, looking confused. Whenever he delved into Seamus' mind, all his thoughts were of Dean, only Dean, and the way Dean's eyes looked or the way Dean laughed.

At first, Dean ignored it. Seamus was his friend. Nothing more.

(Even if some nights, most nights, he wished he _was_ more than a friend.)

The night of their fall was the night something happened. Maybe it was the celebratory vodka that they drunk in memory of the fallen man and their fallen selves, or maybe it was Seamus' thoughts of _kiss me, kiss me_, but before he knew it, Seamus' fiery fingers were travelling over his shoulders, down his spine, and his tongue was flicking against Dean's teeth.

The next minute, they were lying under the stars, sharing a cigarette, lamenting about the gods they once were.

From that moment on, Dean and Seamus were more than just two unruly, corrupted men who had fallen oh so far. They were two unruly, corrupted men whose figures and futures were intrinsically intertwined.

* * *

"I have bad news," Harry said, as he walked into the living room of Ron and Hermione's flat, where Dean, Seamus, Ron and Hermione were gathered, "very bad news, I'm afraid."

"What is it, mate?" Ron asked, idly sipping his beer.

"Luna and Ginny refuse to take sides. They're remaining neutral. Or _cowardly_, as I prefer to call it," Harry raised his eyebrows, a hint of dark humour audible from his voice.

"Damn, their powers would've been useful," Hermione sighed, shifting onto Ron's lap.

"That's not all, either," Harry said darkly, "Ginny has foreseen that Daphne doesn't think that we can be left alone. She thinks that her, Draco and Blaise cannot leave us to our own devices. They're going to _do_ something about us, apparently."

The atmosphere in the room was uneasy, but not surprised. Dean, for one, had always known that saint like Daphne, daddy's boy Draco and perfect Blaise would be far too _golden_ to ever take their side. They truly were good, through and through, seemingly, he thought.

"So, what do we do about _them_?" Hermione asked, looking cunning, all of a sudden.

"We fight."

Seamus' bold statement reverberated around the room, and Dean looked around the room. His peers were all nodding, the dying firelight reflected in their solemn eyes and in their lucid thoughts. They had all known it would come to this, eventually. They had to have known. He looked at Seamus, who looked oddly serious for once and nodded lightly at him, as if to say that they would be by each other's side, throughout it.

"We fight," Dean echoed.

* * *

"DUCK!" Harry yelled, as a large boulder, courtesy of Daphne, flew over Dean's head.

Dean dropped to the ground, surveying the chaos around him. Ron was speeding overhead, dropping debris on Draco; Hermione was invisible somewhere, probably trying to blow something up; Harry was directing the fallen wreckage towards Blaise, with a flick of his fingers; Draco was artfully dodging them, at the speed of light; Daphne was lugging heavy pieces of metal at them, and Seamus was setting fire to anything in sight, in an attempt to form some kind of flaming barricade.

Dean cursed this bloody day. It was going to be a good one and all. A day of painting and snogging Seamus. Bliss. But, no sooner had he made himself his morning cup of tea, Harry had called him in an urgent manner.

"It's time," Harry had said, and Seamus had been by his side, nodding solemnly. They knew.

Another piece of flaming rock flew overhead and Dean swore lightly, before dragging himself off the ground, trying to get closer to Daphne and take her out.

This was completely and utterly pointless, he thought to himself. Daphne and co were outnumbered, and a fat lot of help Blaise was. What was he going to do with his x-ray vision? _Stare _them to death?

"DUCK!" Harry cried again, and Dean chucked himself to the ground once more.

The largest piece of debris yet flew through the air – it might have been a lorry, in a former life, but it was currently sailing towards him. Damn Daphne and her super strength.

The hunk of metal hit the ground with an almighty _crack_ and Dean thanked his lucky stars that he wasn't under that, anyone hit by that wouldn't survive long enough to-

Someone screamed.

Dean turned around.

Time stopped because, there, under the hunk of metal that would kill anyone with a single blow, half trapped beneath the rubble, his face contorted in pain, was Seamus.

* * *

_This is the end, Shay, you've had your run. You're about to die. Fuck._

Dean ran to the lorry that Seamus was trapped under, Seamus' thoughts echoing round his head.

_I had an alright life, I suppose. Better than most. I should be thankful, I suppose._

The battle raged and continued around him, but for Dean, the world had stopped because Seamus, _Seamus_ was slowly fading, before his very eyes.

_But I'm not. Why not? Fuck, I think Dean's getting to me. Artistic, sensitive type, y'know, maybe he's rubbing off on me. Because, god, he's probably listening now, anyway, so, Dean-_

Dean sprinted and, finally, he reached Seamus' side. The colour was slowly fading from his face, and his eyes were getting dimmer by the second. No. No. No! This couldn't be happening. It couldn't. How was the battle still going on? How had no one noticed that Dean's heart was currently being ripped from his chest?

_-Dean, I never got to say it, I wish I had, and I can't believe I haven't-_

Dean clutched Seamus' fingers, once so warm, now ice cold, between his paint stained hands. Seamus' eyes were drooping and Dean knew that these must be his final moments.

"NO!" he yelled, with all his might.

_-Dean Thomas, I-_

Seamus' hands slipped from Dean's, the glassy eyes reflecting the burning fire that he would never create again.

The fire boy, once so bright, burning, daring had now been extinguished.

"I love you too," Dean murmured, as the tears began to fall.

* * *

Their story started with two boys: both heroic, unique and alone in their own rights, who met in an alleyway, as they tried to make the world a better place.

Their story ended with a young man, corrupted by power, unique and more alone than he had ever been, standing in the same alleyway, clutching one of the cigarettes Seamus would never smoke again.

"Goodbye, Shay," he murmured, as he looked to the sky, where the lover he once had finally danced amongst the flaming sun's rays, where he had always belonged.

* * *

_A/N: Rereading this, I think it is rather confusing, so here is a quick directory of characters and their affiliations/powers. "Bad" guys: Dean (mind reading), Seamus (fire affinity), Harry (telekinesis), Ron (flight) and Hermione (invisibility). "Good" guys: Daphne (super-strength), Draco (super-speed) and Blaise (x-ray vision). "Neutral" people, or people who were affiliated with the USM, but never took an active role, and then refused to take sides: Luna (earth affinity) and Ginny (prophetess). For those who found it confusing, the basic plot is that Dean has special "powers" and is part of an underground movement, who take out human criminals, and he meets Seamus, who is doing the same thing, but with no awareness of any of the underground movements. They both become corrupted by power, convince the golden trio to take their side and then Daphne and co try and stop them from being "evil". If you have any other queries about the plot/universe, don't hesitate to PM me. I hope you enjoyed it!__  
_


End file.
